The Guardian
by annemarieknight
Summary: So, everyone knows Dean and Sam moved around all through school. In one small town, Dean met Vanessa Kelly, a best friend and secret love he always remembered. But what happened to her? And how did she break Dean's heart? What is her secret?
1. Chapter 1

I walked somberly, my hands clenched at my sides. I was going to be in so much damn trouble with my dad when he found out about this. Even more than last time. My face was aching from being pulled so tight in anger already. Heart beating fast with actual fear of expulsion this time, I moved to my left more, closer to my partner in crime, my best friend, my first and only well, everything.

He was only a few inches taller than me, with short army-style hair and hazel eyes. He walked with way too much confidence, his oversized leather jacket making him appear horribly disproportioned. I'd never really seen him without it, now that I thought…To match his cocky walk, he wore a disturbing smirk, the same one that was always there. I couldn't believe he was still this sure of himself, even now, the fourth time we'd been caught at this. Despite my mischievous and hooligan-like tendencies, I would have hated actually being kicked out of school.

I wanted to talk to him, but there was a teacher right behind us as well as the resource officer. Well, even if I had been able to talk to him, I could have guessed exactly how the words would have arranged themselves. It wasn't hard with him, though I didn't know if it was because he ha no personality at all or I just knew him that well. On one hand, I knew for a fact that he had immense personality, and on the other, I'd always known there were a great many things he didn't tell me, and it bothered me.

_Why the hell are you smiling?_

_I'm not._

_…yes you are…_

_No, that's just the way my mouth is!_

_Well, put it a different way!_

_You first! How about closing yours?_

I almost laughed as we walked just thinking about it, and I felt all of their eyes on me. I managed to control myself by focusing on the corner ahead, the same thing I did during funerals and sappy movie to keep from crying. I hated crying…

We turned that corner, and by then, I was over my desire to laugh, the principal's office lay two doors ahead. My eyes widened a bit and I locked my jaw.

"Are you scared or somethin'?"

I glared at him, glancing over my shoulder at our jailers staring at him for talking. My cheeks reddened and I scowled. I didn't want him thinking I was afraid of _anything_. We were in constant competition over everything.

"_Shut up._ I'm not scared." I hissed under my breath. "I'm sensible. You're stupid…"

He laughed, that smile (damn him) still present as we stepped into Principal Hemmory's office.

The Principal sat in that supposed 'manly' way, his right foot slung over his left knee, hands folded on top of his big stomach. The ancient oak desk in front of him had nine wormholes on the side facing us. I'd counted them our first trip here, when we'd just received the standard boring warning. Of course, we'd surpassed that speech now. Oh well, the school's discipline system needed to be whipped into shape anyway, right? Amongst his sloppy work papers sat one of those walkie talkies they always carried and talked into like they were badasses or something. Maybe it made the resource officer feel like he was doing a real cop's job. Again, I almost laughed.

Hemmory looked up at us from beneath his wrinkly brow. Even though his mouth was turned down and he looked pissed, he also looked like he was excited to reprimand us. I narrowed my eyes, but then relaxed again. I realized maybe for the first time that Hemmory must get just as bored during the day as we did. I felt sorry for him, until he started talking.

"Well, Winchester. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Dean smirked again, though I could see he was thinking up something good. "Uh…it was all Kelly's idea?"  
I elbowed him hard angrily as sweat broke on my brow. He was such a liar!

I could have sworn I heard Hemmory chuckle at us even though he wasn't supposed to encourage violence. "Vanessa, is this true?"

I groaned, how many times had I asked him (politely, at that) _not_ to call me Vanessa?! "It's 'Nessa,' sir. And…" I hesitated. Of course it had all been Dean's idea, but I wasn't going to rat him out, I couldn't. He'd been in trouble even more than me, and school would be even worse without him. I never understood how I'd survived to be 17 without him around to entertain. The last two months had been the greatest ever. "Yeah, it was my idea." I kept my eyes on Hemmory and not Dean, blushing was my tell, but Hemmory didn't know that. Dean shifted toward me uncomfortably, he hadn't meant for me to take the fall, not really.

Hemmory removed his foot from his knee and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. He hadn't been expecting this and it was obvious. "You know, Vanessa, you're a good student, you have a great shot at life, somehow, I just don't believe that-"

"I get bored in English." I cut him off. "I'm ahead of the other students; I don't find high school a challenge, sir." I stared definitely, even word of that had been pure truth.

"Well…" He faltered. He knew as well as I did that our small town simply didn't have the resources for advanced students. He cleared his throat. "Well, be that as it may, everyone has to go to school, and I can't excuse you simply because you're, you're-"

"Smarter? The smartest?" Dean supplied defiantly in an insolent tone.

Hemmory pointed at him. "No lip from you, I'll take care of your situation in a minute." His eyes came back to me. "I know your daddy, and I know how proud of you he is, I don't want to expel you or suspend you and ruin your chances of getting out of here. But if it happens again, Vanessa Kelly, I won't have a choice." He fixed me with a sympathetic gaze and I stared back coldly, but answered respectfully as I'd been taught.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't you forget it." He turned to Dean now. "Like I said, boy, I have trouble believing Vanessa was the ring leader here, but…you claim you won't be here much longer-"

"I won't."

"-so, I don't want to send you off to the next place with a record. They can do that themselves." He waved us off like children bothering him. "Get outta here, back to class."

He didn't have to tell us twice, both of us turned on our heels and strode out past the teacher and resource officer. I was heading back to English, Dean to Algebra II.

"That was close." I commented darkly.

"Well, you didn't have to take the blame, dummy." He said in his serious tone, which still sounded amazingly like sarcasm and defiance mixed.

"Doesn't matter…" I contested. "I'm not gonna get to go to college anyway…"

"Why not?" He sounded outraged.

"Can't afford it, and Dad has other plans for me."

"Well…he…" He didn't seem to know what to say, like he was torn. "What are they?"

I looked up at him, with a crooked smile. "If I knew, I'd tell you."

"But, you don't?"

I shook my head. "Nope, I don't." I looked down at the ugly green tile we were walking on, and he slung his arm around my shoulders, the leather smell engulfing me as we returned to class to count down the minutes till the day was over.


	2. Chapter 2

My eyelids rose and my eyes screamed in protest. Harsh sunlight attacked from the open blinds at the foot of my bed. Why could I never remember to close those damn things? Oh well, I needed to get my ass out of bed anyway. I hissed in pain as every muscle in my body ached when I sat up. I pushed the coverlet off my legs and torso, examining myself. As predicted, deep black bruises covered my shins and knees to accompany old scars and knots that were like friends to me now. I ran my finger over the deepest bruise of all; in its center was an ugly gash that had taken an hour to stop bleeding. It stung, but it didn't appear to be infected, I could stitch it up now that I was conscious. Hopefully, that dagger hadn't been cursed.

I stood and treaded tenderly to my grimy bathroom to start taking care of my wounds.

My humble abode was most definitely not that of any sort of normal 27-year-old, even a single one. There wasn't enough room to swing a cat, just one room maybe as big as a standard American kitchen. My bed was shoved into a corner beside the only window, and it wasn't made, as usual. The bathroom was old, tiled in puke green that reminded me a lot of the old high school hallways. Speaking of high school, I'd been dreaming about Dean Winchester again the night before…but I didn't want to think about that. Back in the bedroom, one wall was occupied by an old wardrobe, tattered and antique. It probably wasn't the cleanest place to keep my clothes, but I didn't really have a choice. And no one saw me anyway, I didn't exactly exist anymore. Not to the outside world.

The only other free wall in the room would have looked like a shrine of some sort. Maybe in some ways, it was, but for all intents and purposes, it was more of a memorial. A tribute. To someone I left behind and then only wanted to find.

The main background (though it was almost obscured by a collage of other papers) was a huge map of the United States, down to dirt road detail. Scattered across it was a rainbow of red and yellow, the heads of push pins on various roads and in different towns. Layered on top of that were news articles and magazine scans, or Internet printouts. Practically any news medium could be found on that wall. And finally, spread from corner to corner, photos of Dean Winchester. Security camera scans, video stills, newspaper clippings, police sketches, 'Wanted' flyers…every bit of him that had turned up over the past ten years was somewhere on that wall.

I groaned as I poured peroxide and alcohol over my leg, then gently wiped it dry and pulled out a medical needle and thread. Even with all I went through, who I was, I still found I had a low pain threshold. My trick when I was young had been to look away from needles, but since I was stitching myself up now, that wasn't exactly a wise course of action. Somehow, I managed to finish haphazardly. I cut the thread and pressed the palm of my hand onto the wound, breathing deeply. Hopefully, I would have a break for a while. I wasn't entirely sure I could handle another fight, at least not for a day or two.

Limping heavily, I moved back out into the bedroom, stopping in the center of the floor and putting my weight on my good leg, staring at Dean Winchester's wall. From coast to coast, his Impala had traveled, all manner of the Supernatural among his conquests. Wendigos, scarecrows, women in white, Bloody Mary herself, and that damned Shapeshifter…

I looked away sadly as my heart rose into my throat. I swallowed it back down as I crawled into bed and curled into the corner, the bedspread piled around me. I suddenly felt like doing nothing with my day, leaving all of my duties to rot. They were the reason for my despair, my loneliness. Why should I have to be the one who carried the burden? One in the world, and it had to be me. I had been happy, normal, maybe even in love…now what was I? A slave to some master I'd never even met.

I looked at the thick silver bands on my wrists, screaming up at me that _they_ controlled my life, _they_ made my choices, like the genie in Aladdin… I touched one of them gently with a fingertip, then dug my nails in under it, feeling the raw skin there and relishing painful aches. They reminded me that I existed, I could feel…that was allowed. My mouth twisted into a grimace and I looked at the wall again.

For so long, I had hoped something would bring him here. Somehow, this place would call to him again. Realistically, he had no reason to come, this was one of the most demonically-clean places in the country. The push-pins circled and grazed, but never arrived. I had wanted him to come so I could explain myself, now that I knew his secret and that he could –would- understand mine.

But I did not hope for any of this anymore.

Dead men tell no tales, hear none, drive no cars, and kill no demons. And Dean Winchester was dead.


	3. Chapter 3

*Note: The Ravener demons mentioned in this chapter are not my invention, they come from The Mortal Instruments series, specifically first mentioned in "City of Bones." And those are written by Cassandra Claire. They're really good and if you like Supernatural, you'd probably like them too. Oh, and by the way, I didn't come up with Supernatural either, but I think we…all knew that…Good, we're on the same page.

Dean and Sam trecked back to the Impala in silence, covered in blood and icor, or as Dean liked to refer to it, 'demon juice.' Nasty sons of bitches, what they'd just fought. That's why he and Sam were so quiet, what they'd seen that night pretty much scared the hell out of them.

Up until now, they'd only ever seen, thought or heard of one kind of demon. The smoky, black, sulfur stinking, possessing people kind. But this week, they'd gotten a call from some chick in Wyoming claiming that something supernatural had bitten her in the night and the doctors couldn't fix her. She swore it was because the wound was demonice. By the time they'd gotten there, she was dead. And that bite had been one nasty sucker to look at. After that, Sam had went through hell and back getting right down to hard copies of diaries and journals until he found a name for what they were up against. They were called Ravener demons, and they sure as hell weren't smoke, and they weren't possessing people. They didn't need a meat suit to cause problems. They were like huge black scorpions, and the sons of bitches didn't die until you hacked off their poisonous stinger and their heads. And they bled this black sticky stuff the journal called 'icor.'

It wasn't so much that the new way of combat or the demons themselves bothered them, it was just that there were obviously things (maybe lots of things) they didn't know about, and that they hadn't fought. And neither had their dad. There was no mention of anything like these creatures in his journal.

They did that thing where they slid into the car and shut their doors at exactly the same time, looked at each other for a minute, then moved on. Dean cranked the Impala and haded for the nearest Interstate.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Sam asked somberly.

"I just need to drive." Dean answered huskily. "We only managed to kill two of those things and we can't let them get too far ahead. Start tracking."

Sam leaned over with a wince and pulled out his laptop. He'd saved the omen path from the eight hours of research he'd already done. Luckily, _that_ aspect of these demons was the same. He didn't even want to think about what they would have done if there were no way to track the Raveners.

"Looks like…" he opened a few files and calculated quickly in his head, "they're headed for Ohio."

Dean shifted his eyes a bit, a barely noticeable reaction to Sam's words. "Where in Ohio?"

Sam squinted at his screen. "Trinity."

Again, Dean tried to pass off the sudden vicegrip inside his chest. So solemnly, he said, "Hell yes," and pointed the car to the nearest Interstate.

Luckily, Sam was too tired to notice Dean's little twitches. "Want me to drive?"

"Nah, get some rest, Sammy."

He looked at Dean for a few seconds, then conceded an "Okay" and leaned his head back. Sleeping in the car was so routine now, their necks only hurt for three or four damned hours afterward…

Pretty soon, Dean could hear Sam's light snores and he allowed his hands to grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Of course, the Demon scum would head for Trinity, especially now, when his past and everything that had happened there was weighing so heavy on his mind. Lately, with the whole 'Hell' situation hanging over his head, he'd realized he had a lot to think about as far as how he'd spent his life. Somehow, for all these long years, they'd managed to skirt around the little town where he'd attended high school for three months and met Vanessa Kelly. Why now?

He relaxed his fingers as he felt a cramp coming on. There wasn't really much to worry about. If he knew Nessa at all, he knew that she would have found a way out of that place. She'd always been cramped there. This fiery, amazing presence that just didn't fit in with the mediocre gray of a small town. In so many ways, she'd been just like him. That was why he'd thought…

He shook his head a bit, refocusing on the white lines of the Interstate. Maybe he should have taken Sam up on his offer…nah.

Anyway…

All 16-year-olds thought they knew friggin' everything. He'd been no different. But still, it couldn't be normal for a school boy crush to have hung around this long. There'd been only one or two times since then that he'd actually let himself think he loved a woman. Sure he slept with plenty of them, but it was never them that he wanted. In all the brown, gray, green eyes of a million blondes, brunettes and redheads, he couldn't find star blue gazes or silky brown curls.

He gritted his teeth and pressed the gas down harder. He had no reason to be afraid to go back there. _If_ she was even still there, and that was a big 'if,' he'd done nothing wrong. And she should be the guilty one.

Man, it was no fun feeling sixteen again.


End file.
